


Trust in One

by Narida Law (sarea)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-25
Updated: 2000-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarea/pseuds/Narida%20Law
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some choices are difficult to make; others just come naturally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust in One

Trust In One  
by Narida Law

~~~~~~~~

The restaurant was crowded, even at close to ten p.m. on a weekday - the result of a city as densely packed and filled with people who loved to go out to eat as DC was.  The remnants of dessert and coffee lay scattered on the table, an empty bottle of wine set to the side.  Their half-filled glasses were close at hand.

They sat across from each other, and Scully was able to appreciate once more this night how delicious Mulder looked. She remembered she had barely been able to restrain herself from grabbing him and dragging him into her apartment when he had shown up at her door.  The meeting time had been prearranged, but even though she had been expecting him she had not expected him to look so good.

Then again, he always looked good enough to eat.  She should have prepared herself for it.  Too late, now.  She had been sneaking surreptitious glances at him all through their meal.

It was curious that he had chosen this upscale restaurant, simply because it wasn't really them.  Not that she wasn't enjoying herself - she was.  However, she had gotten funny vibes from him all night, though it came and went.  One moment he would be joking, his regular Mulder self, and the next he would lapse into silence, a strange quiet when he seemed to be mulling something over, shutting her out.

To say she didn't like it was an understatement.

"More coffee?" he suggested.

Something was up.  He was nervous.  She could tell by the way that he kept tugging at his lower lip with his fingers and playing with his tie that he was agitated by something.  She thought about what he could possibly have to be nervous about.  They had celebrated her birthday before.  He had never been this antsy.

"No, thanks," she answered.  She didn't have the patience for beating around the bush; luckily, with Mulder, she didn't have to.  "Now, are you going to tell me what's been bothering you all night?"

He looked surprised.  "What makes you think anything's bothering me?"

She gave an unladylike snort.  "I know you, Mulder."

"Yes."  He was thoughtful.  "You do."

Before she could use that admission to her advantage in another verbal spear, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out two items, setting them down onto the table.  Each was simply yet elegantly wrapped, telling Scully he hadn't done the honors himself.  None of his gifts had ever been so meticulously packaged, and it told Scully again that there was something amiss.

Immediately, all other thoughts flew out of her head.

"Happy birthday, Scully," he offered huskily.

She felt a warm flush rise to her cheeks.  She could kid herself that it was the effects of the wine, but she wasn't going to do that.  Not tonight.  "Thank you, Mulder," she replied, smiling a bit shyly.

Her smile faltered a bit when he caught her gaze and held it.  She tried to stop it from happening but couldn't; she raised an eyebrow when he continued to look at her without making any move to give her either of the packages.

He searched her face for a long moment, studying it as though looking for answers.  Not knowing what he wanted to find, she could only look steadily back.  Finally, he directed his attention away from her and instead stared down at the two rectangular-shaped objects on the table in front of him.

He was so quiet and the whole situation felt so abnormal that Scully felt apprehension steal into her.  Mulder looked as though he was trying to make a decision.  She had no inkling of what such a decision entailed, but that fact made her doubly uneasy.  Reading Mulder was second nature to her now; it made her blood run cold when he closed himself off and wouldn't let her in.

"Am I supposed to see through the wrapping?  Is this some sort of test?"  The joke fell a little flat, but she was getting a bit anxious herself.  What was going on here?

Then he looked up and smiled, and everything felt all right again.  It wasn't a completely normal smile - there was still some weird tension about him, and if she didn't know better, could have sworn that what she saw in his eyes was...fear.  But the smile was the same - guileless, boyish, just a hint of teeth.

I know you, Scully told him in her head.  I know you.  Don't scare me like this.

"You're supposed to guess," he joked.  "Any idea what I might have gotten you?"

Her laugh was genuine.  "Mulder...I've gotten everything from football's greatest hits to a basketball to a book of spells to a keychain.  Trying to guess at one of your gifts is like...trying to come up with one of your fantastic theories."

"Oh, come on, Scully - you do that all the time now."  Mulder seemed inordinately pleased by his remark.  He sat back in his chair, visibly trying to relax himself.  "You're getting better at it than me."

She waited for some crack about china patterns, but he stayed silent.  All right, she was really worried now.  She eyed the gifts with alarm.  What could possibly be there that was making Mulder so uncomfortable?  Maybe she didn't want to know.

Want and need were two separate things.  "It's been a while, but I think, at this point, if I remember procedure correctly, you hand me those finely wrapped items.  Then I take them from you, say thanks, and open them.  Any objections to this tried and true protocol?"

He cleared his throat and began to play with the napkin he had placed next to his wineglass.  His body began to vibrate, and Scully realized that he had started to rapidly bounce one leg up and down.  A sure sign of nerves.

"There are...contingencies."

"Contingencies?" She raised an eyebrow again.  "Mulder, has anyone ever explained to you that gifts are so-called simply because they don't =have= contingencies?  Otherwise, they're known as 'bribes.' "

"All right, maybe 'contingencies' wasn't the right word..."

"Just cut to the chase, Mulder.  What's in the boxes?"  She was impatient.  Enough of this; it was her birthday and those were her presents.  She reached across the table, intending to snatch one up.

His hands came down quickly, blocking access.  She glared at him.

"You have to make a choice, Scully," he blurted.

"A choice?"  She stared at him in confusion.  "You mean I don't get both?"  She flushed at the way that sounded.  "I mean...what the hell do you mean, Mulder?"

"You have to make a decision."  His voice was very quiet, so that on the surface he seemed perfectly controlled.  Yet, she detected the tremor under the words.  There was definitely something peculiar going on.

"Okay..." She was willing to play along.  "Give me the little one."  At this point, she was less concerned about what the gifts were than what was troubling Mulder.  She didn't know what he was going to do with the gift she didn't choose, and she didn't care.

"No, no," he inserted hastily, "that's not what I meant."  He uncovered the gifts again, pushing them in her direction.  "You get to open them both.  You decide after you've seen them, which one you want to keep."

She eyed him a little warily.  "You do understand that if either of them requires batteries I might have to walk out on you."

He paused, considering for a moment.  "I think I'm safe," he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.  In fact, she thought he looked a little sick.

She reached across the table once again and halted him in the action of sliding the two packages toward her.  She took one of his hands in hers, wanting to reassure him.  It was cute that he was so nervous, but it wasn't such a big deal, for Pete's sake.  It was just another birthday.  "Mulder, whatever you got me, I love it already," she announced.

If it was possible, he looked even more ill at ease.  "You haven't seen them yet, Scully."

She let go of his hand.  "You haven't given me the opportunity," she teased.

He couldn't argue with that, so he took his hands away from the gifts, both of which now presented themselves directly in front of her on the table.  She reached for the smaller of the two.

"Wait!"

She snatched her hand back as though it had been burned.  "What?"

He looked a little sheepish.  "Open the other one first."

"Jesus, Mulder, you nearly gave me a heart attack."  She took a deep breath.  "All right."  Taking the larger object in her hands, she looked at him, trying to gauge his response.  He looked unwaveringly back at her.  It was a little weird, opening a present while staring at each other, so she finally directed her attention fully toward the task at hand.

Carefully removing the wrapping paper, she uncovered a shiny wooden box, smooth to the touch and heavy in her hands.  Her initials were carved on top, an intricate pattern of leaves and flowers surrounding the letters.  The craftsmanship was remarkable.

"Mulder," she breathed, running her hands over the etchings, "it's absolutely gorgeous."

He had not taken his eyes off of her face.  She glanced up and saw the unhidden glee in his eyes.  He was clearly excited.  "Look inside."  All trace of nervousness appeared to be gone now as he watched her open her present.

She was stunned that there was more to it; the box itself was indescribably beautiful and a more than generous gift.  She felt strangely greedy to even consider looking inside.  But one look into his determined eyes and she realized that if she didn't open it, he was going to do it for her.

Using her thumbs to lift the cover while her fingers held onto the sides of the box, she gingerly did as she was told.  She found, sitting on a bed of cloth within, an old leather-bound book that had obviously seen better times.  Yet it was this very fact that made her almost fear to touch it.

"It's not a first edition."

Her eyes flew to his, hazel orbs so earnest as he explained.  " 'Moby Dick' was first published in 1851; this one was printed in 1925."  He grinned.  "So it's pretty much worthless."

She smiled, a little wanly.  "It's the thought that counts," she murmured, but was not fooled; the novel before her may not have been as costly or rare as a first edition, but it was hardly "worthless," as Mulder put it.  In fact, she was willing to bet that it could easily pay for a dozen lunches for the two of them.

She wanted to convey her gratitude, say something that wasn't another cliche; unfortunately, her mind was blank.  Nothing was forthcoming.  So she finally settled on, "It's amazing, Mulder.  Thank you."

There it was again; the slight clouding of his eyes as he tried to distance himself from her.  "Don't thank me yet," he said lightly.  "You've still got option two."

Her eyes flew to the other package.  She couldn't imagine what it contained.  She suspected that this was the mystery item that was causing Mulder so much grief; she was almost afraid to open it.

Part of her wanted to tell him that the beautiful box and the rare copy of 'Moby Dick' was more than enough, more than any friend could expect on such an occasion.  After all, they saw each other nearly everyday, spent nearly every waking moment together.  Formal gifts were a moot point; the little things that they gave each other everyday, all the little things, were what mattered.  Every meal, every can of soda to slake the other's thirst, every Snickers bar to help ease hunger pangs on a stakeout, every drink in a bar after a successful case or simply because they felt like it, every little task they performed for one another each and every day - those were the things that mattered.  They were small things, to be sure, but on the whole meant more than any one gift on a particular day ever could.

She wanted him to know that.  She even opened her mouth with the intention of telling him so.

But one look into the dark intensity of his eyes, the sight of his fist clenching the napkin beside him, the tension of his shoulders, the set of his mouth, all told her that for some reason, it was very important that she open this small box on the table.  However, all those things were not what persuaded her to finally pick it up with the intention of opening it.  It was the hope she could discern in his eyes, the hope that was right there beside the fear - and she wanted to know what that hope meant.  She wanted to know what he hoped for.

The item she picked up in her hand wasn't nearly as heavy as its companion; it was long, flat, and fairly thin.  With nimble fingers, she pulled and tore at the wrapping, not taking the same care that she had before, her heart aflutter with anticipation and dread.

It was another box.  A nice pen, perhaps?  A watch?  Surely not a -

"Oh my God."  She was scarcely aware that she had even said the words.  All she could do was stare down at the piece of jewelry she had revealed; hands down, the loveliest bracelet she had ever seen.  If she was gaping, there was nothing she could do about it - she was simply astounded.

A gold bracelet.  The gold, upon closer inspection, had been fashioned out of two particular links that repeated over and over as the bracelet completed itself - the letters "d" and "s" in cursive, linked again and again.  But it was not so simple as that; the links themselves were painstakingly detailed with delicate patterns, designed to create the most pleasing aesthetic appearance.  And the whole thing was encrusted with small diamonds that followed the length of the chain.

It was breathtakingly unique.  He had to have commissioned this.  It had to have cost a fortune.  Holy shit.

She was finally able to lift her gaze to meet his.  Unlike earlier with the book, his reaction was carefully hidden.  He didn't look away, but neither did he allow himself to be read.  His delight with the novel had been obvious; he had known she would want it, would love it.  She realized that he was waiting for her to say she couldn't accept his second gift, that it was too much.

Looking away from him once more, she lifted the bracelet out of its bed, fingers slightly shaking.  This piece had been specially made for her, designed with her in mind.  She felt slightly dizzy from the pleasure she derived at the image of Mulder going to a jewelry store, telling someone exactly what he wanted done.  For her.

She bit her lip.  It would be so easy to give it back, tell him that such a costly piece was not an appropriate gift for him to give or for her to receive.  This was not a gift that one friend gave another.

She brought her head up quickly, wanting to catch something from him - emotion that he wasn't currently hiding from her.  If she could find just one crack in his carefully constructed facade, she might be able to discern what he meant by this.

Searching his face for any sign of what he wanted her to do, she came to two realizations at once.

First, he was quite obviously determined =not= to give away any indication of what he wanted her to do.  He wanted this to be her decision, as he had said from the first.

Second, she realized what decision she was to make.  He knew perfectly well that this was not a gift from one friend to another.  That was the point.  This was a gift a man gave to his beloved.  The gift of a lover.  And if she gave it back, whatever excuses fell from her tongue, she was making more than a decision not to accept a gift.  She was making a decision about their relationship.

No pressure or anything, she told herself dryly.  It was too much; she felt almost angry with him for putting her in this position.  Why did such a decision have to be reached tonight?  Why something so definitive?  Why couldn't they take things slow, let things develop naturally?

She took a deep breath.  All right, so they =had= been taking things slow - so slow it sometimes seemed as if they weren't moving at all.  She herself had wondered a thousand times when and if they would ever move beyond this standstill.

It was natural that things should progress, wasn't it?  She had always believed that there was something inevitable about such a happenstance; they loved each other too much, too uniquely, for it not to happen.  They had just been waiting for the right time; the right moment.

So the question was not whether she wanted it; she did.  The question was whether she was ready for it.

She had to ask herself what else had to happen in order to prepare her for a romantic relationship with Mulder - her partner, her best friend, the person she loved above all else.  What else did she need?  Was there still more convincing to be done?

She had spent many lonely nights wondering what stood in their way.  Work - but that was really not an obstacle at all.  The FBI had no hard and fast rules about partners becoming romantically involved, although, of course, it was frowned upon.  Their enemies already knew what they meant to each other, so it wasn't as though they'd be putting themselves in more danger by openly admitting their attachment.  So - what else could she possibly need?

Her second instinct, right after the first cautious one of telling him she couldn't accept his gift, was the one she was more inclined to follow.  This instinct told her to take the bracelet and anything else he was willing to offer - accept everything he was asking her right now with his unreadable eyes.

Each of his gifts had strings attached.  Was she ready to accept the responsibility of those strings?

Her eyes dropped to the wooden box and its beautiful artwork.  The book inside reminded her of all the things she and Mulder were to each other; it was a reminder of a specific conversation, yes, but more than that, it represented all the conversations they had had over the years, all the knowledge they and only they had about each other.  It represented all the memories they shared.  Memories of an extraordinary friendship. They would always have that.

Where they were in their current relationship was a comfortable, safe, and a wonderful place for them to be.  But it was also not enough.  They were both beginning to realize that.

Her glance then strayed to the intricately designed bracelet that she still held in her hand.  If the copy of 'Moby Dick' represented everything they were, then this piece of jewelry symbolized everything they =could= be to one another.  If she turned it - him - down now, God knew when such an opportunity would ever present itself again.  He was surprisingly fragile when it came to her.  Though the occasion had never before arisen, she was certain that if she turned him down in this one moment of anxiety, he could very well take it as an eternal 'no.'

She was as certain about that as she was certain he would willingly die for her at any given moment.  Neither result constituted a risk she was prepared to take.

Why would she refuse?  Was there anything keeping her back but her own cowardice, her own inability to grab at happiness when it came along?  If she said no, she knew with certainty that she would regret it - that she might very well spend the rest of her life regretting it.  So the question of whether she was ready could only be answered in one way - she was as ready as she would ever be.  Wasn't she?

Her trepidation was natural.  She - they - would be embarking into unknown, unfamiliar territory.  But it wasn't fear that was squeezing her heart, making it feel as though it might burst, she realized.  It was joy.

Suddenly it hit her.  He was ready.  By asking her to make this decision, he was telling her that =he= was ready.

Here she was, inwardly agonizing that he had put all the pressure on her, when in fact he had borne the brunt of it.  By asking her to make this choice, he was telling her that he had already considered the options and was prepared and willing for anything.  Which meant that he was ready - if she was - to take that last step.  Which meant that he wanted to.

Obviously, Mulder was tired of the standstill and was spurring them to movement.  He wanted something to happen, but trusted her to make the final decision for them.  Whether they went to the next level or not was up to her.  And she had once told him, in not so many words, that she never wanted to hold him back.  That was still true.

She trusted Mulder completely; implicitly.  It was impossible now for her to do otherwise.  He was ready, and she believed in his instincts.  In the end, it was as simple as that.

Once again, she looked up into his waiting gaze, remembering all that she had seen in it tonight.  He wasn't letting her in now, but she could recall with perfect clarity the fear and the hope, along with a thousand other emotions she couldn't name but recognized just the same, in his eyes.

The tentative smile he gave when he saw her lips curve upward broke her heart and put it back together again, filled it up and made it stronger, just like that.

Placing the bracelet carefully back into its snug bed, she said, "All right, Mulder, I've made my decision."

He looked fairly alarmed that she was replacing the bracelet.  "You know, Scully, you can think about it, if you want..."

"I don't need to think about it.  Or, more accurately, I =have= thought about it, and I have an answer for you."

He stared at her intently, trying to read her.  She smiled inwardly and kept her face impassive, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

"Maybe I don't want to know the answer," he said finally.

"Now you don't want the answer?" she exclaimed, exasperated.  "Okay," she conceded.  "I won't give it to you, then."  She placed the closed bracelet box on top of the carved wooden one.

They looked at each other for several long moments before Mulder miserably caved.

"Which one do you want?"

She could have cried at the sound of his voice, so thin and unsure, cutting her soul because she knew he was bleeding.  She could either suture his wound now or rip him wide open - and it frightened her as much as it thrilled her to possess that power.

She was silent for long moments, composing herself.  She knew that in the interim, he was being tortured even more, but she was unwilling to risk inarticulation at a time when he needed as much clarity as she could give.  When she could trust herself to speak, she placed a gentle hand on the stacked gifts.  "I've made the decision not to make a decision," she informed him.  "I'm keeping them both."

He didn't react immediately, and for a horrifying moment Scully thought that she had just made an enormous fool out of herself.  But then he smiled - a big toothy Mulder grin that she rarely ever saw, and said, "Damn you're greedy, Scully."

She felt the tension she didn't even know she'd been holding rush out of her, and she grinned in response.

Almost immediately, he grew pensive again, looking away from her.  Her smile dropped.  She wanted to scream from the stress.  "What?" she demanded.

"Scully, they...of course.  I...you were always meant to keep both gifts, they're for you.  It's just..." he stopped, miserable.  She was confused by his revelation before it dawned on her.  He was uncertain if what she was telling him was what he had asked for.  He thought that perhaps she hadn't quite understood what he had really been asking, that he might have communicated poorly.

"Mulder," she said gently, waiting for him to meet her eyes before she went on.  "I know what you were asking."

He wanted to believe her.  She could see he wanted that.  But he was too emotionally involved to hear her meaning objectively - he was afraid that he was only seeing what he wanted to see, hearing what he wanted to hear.

"Mulder...I know you, remember?"  It was all the assurance she could give.

After a moment's pause, his face broke out in a wide smile.  He simply answered as he had before.  "Yes.  You do."

She wasn't sure what she had expected to happen next; part of her had believed that once the desire to wanting a deeper relationship had been admitted, things would become awkward, as if they would suddenly become adolescents out on their first date.  Or maybe they would revert to something out of some cheesy old movie.  Were they to immediately throw aside the table?  Would Mulder sweep her up into his arms and carry her out?  Would he jump to his feet and announce to all the other patrons that his lady had consented to...to what, exactly?

Her fears were unfounded.  The reality was much better.  Mulder, injecting a little humor.  She, determined not to smile but failing.  As always.  Nothing was different and yet everything was.  They were the same as they had always been - possessing the same feelings, engaging in the same interaction.  Only now the last wall had been torn down, and they could communicate without fear of misunderstanding.

They could finally say what was on their minds and in their hearts, and in that new luxury there was both comfort and relief.

An accusation.  "You wanted me to be greedy."

A confession.  "I had hoped."

A pause.  "I'm glad."  She hesitated.  "I might not have - "

"I trusted you," he interrupted.

Her brow furrowed.  She looked down at her hands.  "You're putting too much faith in me, Mulder..."

"I hoped that the time was right and I trusted you to tell me if it wasn't for you.  I trusted you to be honest with me."

She lifted her head quickly as her gaze locked with his.  He hadn't been asking her to make a decision for them; he had been asking her to make a decision for =her=.  For some reason, this knowledge lifted an indefinable weight off her shoulders.

Even with so much emotional investment riding on her decision, he had not tried to sway her choice with emotional or intellectual appeal.  By his actions, he told her at the outset that he had made his decision; it was her time to make hers.  Then he had trusted her to be completely honest with him if the time was not right.

Looking at each other now, both remembered another time when they had stared at one another across a different kind of table - a desk.  That time was filled with misery.  This time, there was only understanding.

They smiled brilliantly at each other, as if all their questions, all their apprehensions, had been answered and laid to rest.

She could kiss him if she wanted to.  Pleasure swept through her at the thought.  She could do anything she wanted to him, and she was allowed.  What a wonderful feeling.  She wanted to use her newfound freedom immediately.

Toeing off one of her shoes, she searched for him under the table.  She was glad for the long tablecloth that made this little indiscretion so easy.  Her stocking-covered foot made contact with one of his ankles.  He stared at her in amazement while she looked at him through her eyelashes, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

He gave a little yelp when her foot found its way under the material of his pants and traveled lightly up his bare calf.

"Yes, sir?"  A waiter had been hovering nearby during Mulder's unfortunate lack of control of his verbal response to her teasing.

Mulder picked up his wineglass and took a large gulp of the wine that remained.  "I, uh...check, please," he responded hoarsely.

The meal was paid for and their coats were retrieved from the cloakroom.  Stepping outdoors, Scully felt positively giddy.  The night was cold and windy, and soon, fat drops of rain greeted them from the sky.

One of DC's sudden showers let open on the city.  Mulder stood there watching Scully as she got soaked and she did the same for him.  Neither made any move to find shelter.

"Um...Scully," he finally said after a bit, "you're getting a little wet."

She flashed him a flirtatious smile.  "I'm very wet," she answered huskily, reaching up to speak into his ear.  She could feel the heat emanating from his cheeks as his blood rushed to that area; she was delighted by her comment.

Suddenly he laughed, and she did likewise.  Soon they were giggling like two kids who had gotten joyously soaked by jumping into puddles.  They held each other and grinned madly, hair plastered against their skulls and their faces.

And just as suddenly they were kissing, mouths meshing, tongues dueling, hands groping, pulling, clutching.

She couldn't get enough of him; the taste of Mulder was intoxicating, as she had known it would be.  The inside of his mouth was amazingly hot, his tongue soft and slick, his lips warm and tender.

They kissed as another couple left the restaurant, looking away from them quickly.  They kissed as two empty cabs drove by, splashing more water onto the pavement from their tires.  And they kissed as rain fell softly, steadily against their faces.

When they pulled away it was only to gasp for air, and at the same time realized they were both utterly drenched.

She didn't know if she was crying or if it was the rain, but her throat was thick was emotion and her heart was overflowing with too much happiness.  You make =me= a whole person, she told him with feeling, her heart in her eyes.  He looked at her, at the message she was conveying with her eyes, and pulled her against him, holding her tight.  He kissed her cheek, whisper-soft, and she knew he understood.

"Your place or mine?" he asked, half-joking.  A drop of rain slid from his upper lip into his mouth, and she followed its movement hungrily.

Looking up at him, snuggling against him, she delighted in the simple fact that she could.  "It doesn't matter," she replied, smiling.  It didn't matter as long as he was beside her.  She would never have to sleep without Mulder again.

She drank in the sight of him in the moonlight.  A soft glow illuminated his beautiful face.  His beautiful, familiar face.  Plastered against him as she was, she was able to take in the smell of him even over the waterlogged clothes - the aftershave, the soap, and underlying that, just Mulder - the familiar scent she had had to comfort her for six years.

"I love you."

She thought the words had come from her, and she sucked in a breath.  She wondered if she had crossed a line.  But it wasn't she who had spoken - it was Mulder.  He told her he loved her quietly, simply, without affectation, so that three words, often overused and misused by others, were given purity and meaning again.

Scully brought a finger up to trace the outline of his lips.  How often she had dreamed about him, dreamed about kissing those lips, sucking on them, nibbling, biting, chewing, as he was always doing.  *Now those are mine.*  She was thrilled by the realization.

Mulder gasped as her mouth found the pulse at his throat.  "I love you," she whispered to his heartbeat.

He held her tightly against him, neither speaking for a long moment.  As always, their silence was filled with words.

It was almost a surprise when the rain let up, going as quickly as it had come.  The air was left crisp and cool, refreshed and cleansed.

Scully took a deep breath, feeling it fill her lungs, then let it out with a gentle sigh.  "Mulder... tonight," she began.  "It was very brave of you."  He always leapt before he looked, and Scully was gratified that this was a facet of his personality that would, in all likelihood, never change.  She never wanted it to change, because that was who he was.  And she loved that person; she loved that man.

He lifted her face so that their gazes could meet.  Hazel eyes stared into blue...and neither remarked on the fact that they were standing on the sidewalk in front of a fancy restaurant in Dupont Circle, dressed to the nines, soaking wet, and resembling drowned rats.

He was quiet for a moment, then kissed her softly and said, "Sometimes when you don't know what to do, you just have to place yourself in the hands of the person you love."

She thought about how she had made her own decision tonight, made in order to gain the world.  She had trusted in the one she loved. 

"Yes," she breathed.  "That's it exactly."

**Author's Note:**

> A breather while I'm working on a long smut piece - something a little more up my alley. This one's a little bit of a departure for me in a couple of ways, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Thanks for reading!


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